


Could Have Fooled Me

by Dad



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dad/pseuds/Dad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete keeps Patrick from drinking because he's not 21, and Patrick does not approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Have Fooled Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I basically wrote the opening paragraph to this ages ago, and just realised that it was going to be deleted in a few days. So I finished it in a bit of a mad rush in a couple of hours. There are probably a hundred mistakes, so please feel free to point them out and let me know if you enjoyed it!

Alcohol sucked; Patrick decided, as he tried to weave his way through the heaving mass of people towards what he hoped was an open, outdoor space. Being small had its advantages – though they were few and far between – but being just below head height in a tightly packed crowd was not one of them. The asthma didn't help, and the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes was going to be clinging to his hat for days if he couldn't wash it. His sharp elbows were a blessing as he shoved his way past countless drunk bodies, towards a pair of sliding doors that he  _thought_ was the garden. He mentally crossed his fingers as he squeezed past a disturbingly sticky, shirtless, _mountain_ of a dude, and was hit by a blast of frigid September air.  _Thank God._ Patrick was sweltering, and was pretty sure that most of the sweat on the back of his shirt wasn't even his. 

He rubbed a hand across his forehead in resignation. 

He hated house parties. He hated crowds. He hated drunk people. He hated Pete for not letting him drink because alcohol was only fun when he was drinking and maybe if-

"Dude. There you are."

Patrick whipped around to look Pete in the face. A bottle of bud hung loosely between his thumb and  index finger and he was drunk, judging by the slack in his jaw and the glassy look in his eyes. Fuck, Patrick  _really_ hated him right now. 

Patrick was better when he was drunk. More talkative, more sociable, more interesting. And yet here he was, awkward and uncomfortable; all because Pete had decided that Patrick needed saving from himself, and the temptations of the flesh (or rather the bottle), since he wasn't legally allowed to drink yet. Pete barely changed at all when he was drunk - it was like an amplifier - it made him louder, funnier, more  _Pete._ But it also sanded down his edges. He was more palatable this way - easier to be around. He was sluttier too - this was the first time Patrick had seen him tonight that he hadn't been attached to somebody else's mouth.

"Fuck you, Pete." Patrick huffed, a cloud of steam leaving his mouth as he did so. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair before turning away from Pete to take a seat on the decking steps and jam it firmly back on his head. He wasn't surprised when Pete took a spot next to him. Their arms and shoulders were pressed together, and Pete seemed to be at least ten times hotter than Patrick felt, which should have been physically impossible, but hey - that was Pete.

"Pattycakes," Patrick cringed at the pet name.  "If this about me not letting you drink you have to understand. You're a little baby and I can't let you- I promised your mom, man!" Pete was waving his hand around, his eyes fixed on Patrick's. His hair was stuck to his forehead in places and his eyeliner was smudged but he made it work, somehow. Patrick wished he had a quarter of the confidence that Pete had. He was right though - he had promised Patrick's mom. At least eight times on two different occasions. Patrick sighed.

"Yeah, whatever." Patrick ducked his head  and fiddled with his shoelaces, hoping that Pete would just leave him alone and find someone more drunk to converse with. 

"I know it sucks, Lunchbox, but that's the way it is. Drinking is _way_ overrated anyways." Pete placed his bottle by his feet and dropped a few reassuring pats on Patrick's thigh. He was leaning heavily on Patrick's side now, and he still seemed to be 300 degrees too hot. Patrick watched the hand on his thigh and expected Pete to pull it away once he was done with his show of affection, but he just rested it on the leg of Patrick's jeans. 

"Overrated?" Patrick grunted, "I don't know... _you_ seem to be having fun." He thought briefly that maybe Pete's hand would burn a hole through his jeans. Maybe Pete was a mutant and he had fire powers. Maybe  _Patrick_  was a mutant and he had  _ice_ powers.

"Dude, I am _always_ having fun." Pete grinned lazily at Patrick's eye roll and laughed. "You can have fun too, easy. I can suck your dick if you like. That's pretty fun." Patrick froze.  _What?_   Pete was drunker than Patrick had thought, clearly. He was tense now, and acutely aware of every part of him that was touching Pete.

"What are you-" He began, avoiding Pete's gaze.

"Well, your mom told me to keep you away from girls, but, well. I'm not a girl." Pete's tone was totally unreadable, but Patrick let out a full-on belly laugh. The tension snapped and settled and his body relaxed. He looked Pete in the face.

"Really? Because you could've fool-"  

The rest of his sentence was lost in Pete's mouth, which was suddenly on top of his own.  _Huh._

Pete's mouth was hot, just like the rest of him, and tasted like beer. It took more than a couple of seconds for the freaking out to stop and for Patrick to remember to breathe, and then another couple of seconds for him to close his eyes. And then he was kissing Pete. Their mouths slid together and  _wow, okay_ Pete's tongue was in his mouth and the hand on his thigh was migrating upwards and _oh god,_ was Pete serious about the blowjob thing? Patrick's skin was igniting and Pete's teeth were pressing into his bottom lip and pulling, and then he was leaning away. 

Pete's gaze was dark and heavy, and Patrick was breathless just looking at him. His pants seemed to be getting a little tight too.

"So what do you say, Pattycakes?" Pete purred, and Patrick let the nickname slide - maybe it would grow on him. "Want me to get you off with my mouth?" Pete punctuated his sentence with a strategically placed hand on the hard line of Patrick's erection through his jeans. 

Patrick's mouth opened and closed silently for a few seconds before Pete's brow furrowed and Patrick resorted to nodding vigorously. It was enough to satisfy Pete, apparently, because he shifted his weight onto the step below Patrick and leant forward to press his mouth onto Patrick's neck and work his belt open. 

Patrick hissed and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when Pete spit into his palm and finally wrapped a hot hand around Patrick's dick.

"Anyone ever do this to you before, Lunchbox?" Pete whispered against Patrick's neck, and scraped his teeth along the hollow of his throat.

Patrick gulped.

"Nuh uh." He shook his head softly, and felt Pete smile against his collarbone. 

"Good. Then I've been doing my job."

Patrick gasped as Pete swiped his thumb over the sensitive head of his dick, then ducked down and settled onto his haunches.  _Oh god, oh god, oh god, he was going to-_

Patrick's head dropped backwards and it was all he could do not to moan Pete's name. He thought he had been struggling to breathe back in the house, but that paled in comparison to  _this._ Pete's mouth was sliding slowly down the length of Patrick's cock, while his hand stroked gently up the base. His other hand was at his own crotch, palm pressed firmly onto the outline of his dick. He looked up at Patrick through his eyelashes, bangs hanging over hooded eyes, and then pressed his tongue firmly against the underside of Patrick's cock.

"Pete-" Patrick stammered, his brain short circuiting as he reached out and gripped the hair at the back of Pete's head, his other arm moving back to brace his weight on the decking as he leant back. Pete let out a low moan as Patrick pulled gently at his hair, and Patrick's hips lifted in a sharp buck, fucking into Pete's mouth. He laughed around Patrick's cock, and removed his hand from his crotch to press at Patrick's hips, holding him down.  

Patrick was going to die. Pete's mouth was hot and wet and _so_  tight, and he was keeping perfect rhythm with his hand, and Patrick could feel every movement of his tongue and _jesus_ , the authorities were going to find him dead and someone would have to explain to his mom why he was no longer alive. He was having a hard time keeping his hips still, and his eyes were screwed shut because he couldn't handle the weight of Pete's gaze alongside the gorgeous pressure on his dick. His chest was tightening and his mouth hung open as he gasped for air, puffs of steam appearing on every exhale along with a quiet  _ah_ as Pete's bobbing sped up. _  
_

"Patrick." Pete hummed against his dick, and Patrick opened his eyes long enough to see Pete's lips stretched pink and shiny over the head of his cock before he was coming _hard_. His hips bucked up off the deck and into Pete's mouth, but he took it like a pro, swallowing and humming around Patrick's orgasm, and stroking him gently as he came. Patrick's arms buckled and he fell onto his back, and he thought he heard the sound of glass; he had probably knocked Pete's drink over.

He felt Pete tuck him back into his pants and looked down to see him press a gentle kiss onto his fly before zipping it up.

Pete's hand was in his pants again.

"C'mere." Patrick made grabby hands and Pete crawled up the step to hover over Patrick. He flicked open Pete's button and managed only a few rough strokes before Pete was coming on his hand with a groan and flopping down on top of him.

"-Trick. Fuck." He groaned, his voice cracking and sandpaper rough. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Patrick's mouth.

They lay there for a while, breathing slowly leveling out until they were both softly exhaling wisps of steam into the air. Or rather, Patrick was. Pete was breathing directly into Patrick's collarbone. It tickled. 

Patrick still had a hand in the cooling stickiness in Pete's pants, and he was slowly becoming aware of it drying onto his palm.

"Gross. Move, asshole." He laughed as he shoved Pete off of him and withdrew his hand, wiping it on Pete's jeans.

"See, Pattycakes? Don't need alcohol to have a good time." Pete mumbled around a yawn, and then flopped back onto Patrick, lifting his hand to Patrick's.

"Whatever." Patrick grinned, as he laced their fingers together. 


End file.
